Thomas accepted Greta's hand and held a bit tighter than he meant to. She was right, after all. He should have stopped her.
"Not without leaving her," he said quietly. It sounded weak, even to him. He looked at Greta again. "She was all I had. My entire life, Lucille was the only person to care whether I lived or died. I-- I couldn't leave her. What would become of her?"
He couldn't condemn her back to an asylum, or worse; he knew that Lucille could marry well, but no husband would ever survive her. Not for long, anyway.
"And... she would never let me go." He sighed and his free hand pushed into his hair. The words flowed more easily now, even if he was ashamed of them. "I tried to raise more capital in Europe. In Italy, she-- we met Enola Sciotti. After Margaret, I think I lost all will to resist this plot. Enola was my third wife, but she was the last one to be murdered. The fourth was Edith Cushing. I chose Edith."
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"Not without leaving her," he said quietly. It sounded weak, even to him. He looked at Greta again. "She was all I had. My entire life, Lucille was the only person to care whether I lived or died. I-- I couldn't leave her. What would become of her?"
He couldn't condemn her back to an asylum, or worse; he knew that Lucille could marry well, but no husband would ever survive her. Not for long, anyway.
"And... she would never let me go." He sighed and his free hand pushed into his hair. The words flowed more easily now, even if he was ashamed of them. "I tried to raise more capital in Europe. In Italy, she-- we met Enola Sciotti. After Margaret, I think I lost all will to resist this plot. Enola was my third wife, but she was the last one to be murdered. The fourth was Edith Cushing. I chose Edith."